


When Cooper Anderson Comes to Town

by mailroomorder



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, AnderBros, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blangst, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mailroomorder/pseuds/mailroomorder
Summary: Cooper Anderson hasn't been home in three long years, but when his grandmother dies he's forced to come back to Ohio and face his demons. Those demons include his parents, who he never really got along with, and his younger brother, who used to be his best friend. But after three years of no communication, Cooper is faced with the realization that when you push someone out of your life, they push you out of their life, too.





	When Cooper Anderson Comes to Town

**Author's Note:**

> This fic explores Cooper's relationship to his family. It's about Blaine and Cooper rebuilding a relationship that has been shattered by mistrust and distance. 
> 
> Feel free to reblog this story [here](http://mailroomorder.tumblr.com/post/159956329845/when-cooper-anderson-comes-to-town).

                Ohio sucks. But this isn’t new. It’s always sucked.

                It feels constricting, despite the vast open fields he passes by on his ride from the airport to his parents’ house. It feels dull, despite the vibrant colors of the skyline as the sun sets. He can see the chill in the air, the frozen tree branches extending from the trunks like bony fingers grasping for someone else.

                He doesn’t come back much because there isn’t much to come back to. He’s twenty-six years old, and the few friends he had in high school are long forgotten. The minute he graduated he took off to the West Coast, to the sun, the beach, the sand. To the big city, and the opportunities it held. To freedom.

                He leans his head against the car window and tries to remind himself why coming back for Christmas is worth it. Why it’s important that he’s here.

                “What are you thinking, Cooper?” his father asks conversationally.

                It sounds odd coming from him, like that isn’t his actual father but a carbon copy made to look and act like him. Cooper can’t remember his father ever using that phrase so kindly.

                When Cooper decided to only apply to colleges in California, his father remarked, rather angrily, “What are you _thinking_ , Cooper?! _California?!_ Do you know how expensive it is to fly back and forth?”

                When Cooper decided not to come back for Thanksgiving or Christmas his freshman year, his father screamed over the phone, “What are you _thinking_ , Cooper?! Do you _want_ to upset your mother?”

                When he graduated college and started seriously pursuing a career in acting—waiting tables and doing odd jobs on the side—his father shouted, “What are you _thinking,_ Cooper?! Honestly, what is going through your head? I didn’t pay over a hundred thousand dollars for you to go to college and then throw your degree away!”

                 He takes a deep and steadying breath. “Not much. Just tired.”

                He is tired, too. The kind of tired that’s bone deep. It’s like his body is rejecting Ohio and everything it stands for. Or maybe it’s reverting back to how it used to be when Cooper lived here: sunken in, angry, tired, unhappy.

                He hasn’t been back for a long time. He stopped referring to Ohio as home the minute he landed in California for college eight years ago. He’s twenty-six, and since he was eighteen he has only ever come back to Ohio for two Christmases: once when he was twenty and his mother guilt tripped him into coming, and again when he was twenty-three because his younger brother Blaine was in the hospital with pneumonia.

                He didn’t want to come back this Christmas, either, and he wasn’t planning on it. Not until his father called yesterday, an unfamiliar calmness and sadness in his tone.

                “Your Grandmother died,” he had said, an apology at the tip of his tongue. “She—I’m sorry, Cooper.” It sounded genuine.

                “Which, uhm, which grandmother?” Cooper asked, stunned.

                “Evelyn,” his father replied, and Cooper’s heart breaks. Because Evelyn is his mother’s mom.

His mother had had a tough life. Her sister committed suicide at nineteen. Her brother died in his mid-thirties of cancer. Her father died of a heart attack when she was only twelve. Her first child—two years before Cooper was born—was a stillborn.

                Death seems to follow his mother around.

                His father fills him in on the rest of the details over the phone, and he doesn’t even have to beg Cooper to come home.

                “I can cancel everything, for the next week. How long do I need to stay?”

                “A week would be nice,” his father responds.

                Cooper flies out that night on a redeye that his father pays for without ever complaining about the holiday pricing. It’s two days before Christmas, which isn’t the best time to die, Cooper realizes, because his Grandmother will be buried on Christmas Day.

                Now Christmas will be ruined for his mother.

                They pull up to his childhood home, and Cooper grabs his own bag from the trunk before following his father to the front door.

                When they walk in, Cooper heads straight to the guest bedroom—the one that used to be his own—and sets his stuff down. It’s still early in the morning, and his brother Blaine is probably asleep. But he has a feeling that his mother isn’t, so he goes to the bathroom to freshen up and then knocks quietly on her door.

                “Mom?” he says, pushing it open lightly. He peers in and sees his mother still in her pajamas and sitting on the bed.

                “Hi, baby,” she says, turning to him with a sad smile.

                Cooper walks over to her and gives her a brief, but firm, hug.

                “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

                She shrugs and looks down at her hands, which are clasped and resting on her legs.

                “Me, too,” she says.

                Cooper perches on the edge of the bed.

                “Is there anything I can do?” he asks.

                She shakes her head. “I’m glad you came back,” she replies.

                “Of course,” Cooper says.

                They sit quietly for a bit until his mother gets up, saying she wants to get ready for the day.

                Cooper has been told time and time again that he is an exact replica of his mother, just with a shorter attention span and no verbal filter. He used to begrudge that comparison, because he and his mother have rarely seen eye to eye growing up. He always saw them as fundamentally opposed.

                His mother is math and numbers and exactitude. Cooper is freedom and no rules and do as you please.

                His mother is not a warm and fuzzy person. Neither is Cooper, though. But he’s trying.

                She’s not cold-hearted, but she’s been hardened by life, Cooper supposes. She’s not an attention-seeker like both of her sons are. She lives life inside a box. And while Cooper lives life outside of the box, it’s with the same kind of purpose that his mother has. A need to succeed, to constantly improve oneself, to relentlessly dwell on the past and have a hard time moving on.

                He goes downstairs and ruffles through the organized cabinets, grabbing what he needs in order to make a cup of coffee. He tries not to make too much noise. The house is so quiet, and for some reason he feels the need to help maintain that.

                It’s nothing like his apartment back home is.

                His father is sitting at the kitchen table quietly reading the newspaper. It’s an image that Cooper is used to. It’s burned into his head; every weekend morning that’s where his father would sit, that’s what he would do.

                “You want a cup of coffee?” he asks his dad.

                “I’m fine,” his father replies.

                When his coffee is done brewing Cooper isn’t quite sure what to do next, and he stands in the kitchen awkwardly for a moment, feeling like he’s sixteen again and he’s stuck in this quietly oppressive house where no one talks and there’s never any music playing and there are no pictures or paintings on the walls because God forbid the living room has _character_.

                He heads back to the guest room and reads a book that he packed.

* * *

 

                He doesn’t see Blaine at all that day, and when Cooper goes to the kitchen to grab something to eat for dinner around seven that night, he asks his dad where Blaine is.

                “He’s at his friend’s,” his dad responds.

                “Oh,” Cooper says. “When will he be back?”

                There’s not much food in the house, but Cooper finds some sliced deli turkey and cheese, and he puts together a sandwich while his father finishes cleaning up the mess from his own dinner.

                “He will be at the funeral tomorrow.”

                “Are we doing—uh, are we going to midnight mass?” he asks. They did it growing up as kids, and both times he came back for Christmas, but it was never Cooper’s choice. He gave religion up as soon as he was able to. He celebrates more Jewish holidays than he does Christian ones now because his girlfriend of three years is Jewish.

                “Your mother would like to. I thought I’d take her.”

                “I can come,” Cooper offers, not really sure where he stands now. He knows his parents wanted him here, but he doesn’t _feel_ that. He’s never really felt it. They always had a strange way of showing affection, and it’s something Cooper has had to grow out of. It’s been hard internalizing that he’s allowed to show emotion, that he’s allowed to want things from people.

                “If you’d like,” his father says, finishing up his last dish. “I’m going to take a small nap before tonight. We’ll be leaving around eleven if you’d like to come.”

                “Is Blaine coming?” Cooper asks, turning to follow his father as he walks out of the room.

                “No idea,” his father says without turning around.

                “Alrighty,” Cooper says sarcastically, rolling his eyes and going back to eating his sandwich as he leans against the counter.

                His phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he looks at the caller ID and sees it’s his girlfriend, he heads out onto the back porch to answer it.

                “Hey,” he sighs, immediately feeling more at ease.

                “How are you doing?” Sarah asks.

                Cooper shrugs. He has a hard time vocalizing his feelings. He’s always done a better job of _showing_ than _telling_. He thinks that might be what makes him a decent actor.

                “Okay,” he finally says. “Wish I were back in LA with you.”

                “It’s that bad?”

                “No. Not bad. Just…my family isn’t like yours. And my mom’s having a hard time. She spent most of the day in her room.”

                “Is there anything I can do?” she asks.

                Cooper shivers. It’s cold outside. He can see his breath wisp into the air when he talks, but he doesn’t want to go back inside to get his jacket.

                “Come to Ohio,” Cooper remarks soberly.

                “I wish I could,” she says sincerely.

                Cooper takes a deep breath and scrunches his eyes together.

                “Probably best that you’re not here,” he says. “This isn’t how I’d want you to meet my family.”

                “And how would that be?” Sarah asks.

                “Preferably never,” Cooper jokes, a bit of joy back in his heart.

                “It will be a small wedding then,” Sarah says, playing along, and Cooper can hear her smile.

                “I wish,” Cooper laughs. “If only you didn’t have forty aunts and uncles.”

                Sarah laughs back. “Well, we can just get married at the courthouse. Save our money. I’m _sure_ my parents wouldn’t care if their oldest child got married in a secret wedding that they weren’t invited to.”

                “Oh, totally. Sounds like a plan in my book,” Cooper says.

                “But really,” Sarah says, pulling her voice together a bit. “How are you? You never told me if you were close to your grandmother.”

                “Nobody in my family is close,” Cooper replies matter of fact.

                He loves Sarah, with all of his heart. He doesn’t think that he’s ever loved anyone like this before, and it scares him. Her family scares him, too. She comes from a big, close-knit family; she’s one of four siblings, her parents are each one of three. Her aunts and uncles all have at least two kids. One even has five.

                They get together for every holiday, and they all live close to each other for the most part. Every Friday night her parents have at least _one_ section of the family over for Shabbat dinner. Sarah sees someone in her family—a sibling, a parent, a cousin— _at least_ once a week for the most part.

                Cooper hasn’t seen his parents or brother in three years. _Three years_. And he was okay with it. It would have been longer if his grandmother hadn’t died.

                Cooper is closer with Sarah’s family than he has ever been with his own. He and Sarah have talked about marriage. They’re not ready yet, but within a year they think they’ll be engaged. He hasn’t told his parents yet, but he’s discussed it with Sarah’s. He asked Sarah’s siblings if they’d be okay with him joining the family.

                He doesn’t even know if his own brother knows he’s dating someone. He’s never talked about it with Blaine. He doesn’t ever talk to Blaine.

                Because of this, because of how easily he has transitioned into being part of Sarah’s family, she doesn’t understand how he isn’t so close to his own. She doesn’t understand how distant the Anderson’s are, even when they’re in the same room. She doesn’t understand that a part of Cooper doesn’t even want to be close with his family, because it seems like such a daunting and impossible task, and he doesn’t know what he’d get out of it in the end.

                “But you want to be,” Sarah replies. “You want to be close with them.”

                Cooper sighs, looking at his breath as it smokes in the air.

                “I used to.”

* * *

 

                 Blaine isn’t at midnight mass. He’s not at home when they get back, either.

                He’s not there in the morning when Cooper wakes up.

                He’s not in the car with Cooper and their parents when they drive over to the wake.

                Blaine’s standing in the parking lot of the funeral home and leaning against a car, playing with his phone, when Cooper and their parents pull up.

                Blaine pockets the phone as they park, and he walks over to the passenger side of the car. He opens the door and helps his mother step out.

                “Hi, mom,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

                Their mother nods and begins the walk to the funeral home.

                Blaine turns to Cooper.

                “Hey,” he says, holding his hand out.

                Cooper grabs it and they bro-hug awkwardly, not sure if it should be a handshake or a full on hug.

                “What’s up?” Cooper asks, checking his brother out.

                He hasn’t seen Blaine in three years, and he looks so much different. His face lost the last bits of baby fat that were there before, and he’s no longer slim and lanky. His shoulders are broad, filling out the black fitted duffle coat.

                His hair isn’t overgelled like it was when he was fourteen and still getting the hang of purposeful grooming. Instead his curls are well maintained and tousled expertly. He doesn’t look like a child anymore, and Cooper has to do the math for a moment to make sure that Blaine really is seventeen.

                When they hug Cooper can smell cologne. Not cheap body spray, either, like Axe. Something more sophisticated.

                “Not much,” Blaine says.

                “You have a cell phone,” Cooper points out. Because fourteen year old Blaine didn’t have a cell phone. Or if he did, Cooper didn’t know about it.

                Suddenly it hits him how truly separated he is from his life in Ohio. Three years with no contact and he and his brother can’t even manage a hug that uses both arms. Three years and Cooper never thought to reach out and get his brother’s cell phone number, or ask if he has a Twitter or Instagram.

                Cooper deleted his Facebook years ago, but he thinks he’d get a new one if it meant being able to maintain some level of contact with his younger brother.

                Blaine looks at him like he’s dumb.

                “Of course I do,” he says, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m seventeen.”

                They follow their father into the funeral home, and Blaine holds the door open for Cooper.

                “Right,” Cooper says, at a complete loss for words. “How are you?”

                “You already asked me that, Cooper,” Blaine says bluntly.

                Cooper seizes up for a moment and nods his head dumbly. “Right, right.”

                He looks at Blaine again and sees so much of his father. The seriousness etching itself onto all parts of his face, the tense posture, the lack of emotion. The no frills, no fun, no room for conversation attitude.

                 This isn’t the brother he remembers.

                This isn’t the Blaine that would perform one man shows in the living room and make everyone was watching. This doesn’t resemble the Blaine that learned all of the dance moves to Britney Spears’ music videos, and who would make his own Valentine’s Day cards because he thought the store ones were _too generic_ for his third grade class. This isn’t the younger brother that used to run into his arms after he got home from preschool, or who brought Cooper in for his kindergarten’s Show  & Tell, forcing him to perform a dramatic Shakespeare monologue in front of a bunch of five year olds because it always made Blaine laugh.

                He wonders when all of this changed. He wonders if he should regret not being there for it.

                They stand in the lobby while his parents finalize everything, and not too much later the doors open and people start filtering in. Cooper and Blaine are flung into the small crowd, shaking hands and offering cheek kisses to friends and neighbors that show up.

                Their grandmother had no other family, and it’s Christmas Day, so not many people come. The few that do don’t really stick around. After about thirty minutes some younger kids walk in, and they go right up to Blaine and hug him. Cooper stands to the side and watches as his brother and these kids move into a corner and start talking. He watches as his brother laughs and smiles with these people that Cooper doesn’t remember ever seeing before. He watches as two adults—a man and a woman—walk over to them and hug Blaine. He watches how easily Blaine falls into their embraces, and he remembers the half-hearted greeting he and his brother had, and he wonders _why_. Why and how and when did he and his brother become these strangers?

                Blaine’s group of people stay for a bit, and Blaine excuses himself only when his father walks over and lets Blaine know that it’s time to drive over to the graveyard.

                He and Blaine are pallbearers, and it’s a long cold walk from the hearse to the burial ground.

                Afterwards, when everyone has left and it’s just the Andersons—just Blaine, Cooper, and their parents—Cooper walks back over to Blaine.

                “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says.

                He doesn’t know if he means the past day when he’s been home or the past few years.

                “Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t around yesterday.”

                Cooper shrugs. “No big deal.”

                “So what’s new in your life? Still acting?”

                “Yeah. It’s been going well, actually. I’m making enough to live off of at least.”

                “That’s great,” Blaine says, but there’s no fire behind his eyes, no smile. Cooper has never felt so awkward making small talk with someone.

                They’re in the parking lot waiting for their parents to come back to the car so they can go home and celebrate Christmas or all go back to their respective rooms and ignore each other—Cooper’s not quite sure what will happen. They show up soon after, unlocking the car doors so that Cooper can get in.

                “I’ll see you at home,” Cooper says. “We can catch up some more.”

                Blaine pauses awkwardly for a moment, then begins shifting on his feet.

                “I’m actually, ah, going back to my friend’s,” he says, pointing at his own car.

                “It’s Christmas,” Cooper replies dumbly.

                As if that means anything. As if Cooper hasn’t spent nearly the past decade avoiding his family on Christmas.

                His Christmases now don’t even mean anything like they used to; he hangs out with Sarah and her family and they eat Chinese food and play board games. It’s not Christian at all, but it’s still the best Christmases Cooper has ever had.

                “Yeah,” Blaine says. “Sorry. I’ll uh, I’ll…come home tomorrow. I’ll be home tomorrow, yeah, and we can catch up. How long are you around?”

                “Like five more days,” Cooper replies.

                “Yeah, okay. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

                Blaine offers a small wave and heads back to the car he came in. Cooper doesn’t even know if it’s his or one he borrowed from someone.

                The drive back home feels short, and Cooper’s lost in his head the whole time.

                His mother immediately goes to her room, and Cooper loosens his tie and stops his father before he follows her in.

                “Hey,” he says, grabbing his father on his upper arm. “Can I ask you something?”

                “Sure,” his father responds.

                “Does Blaine usually just…not come home for a few days? Or is it just because it’s winter break for him?”

                “Blaine doesn’t live here,” his dad says.

                “What?” Cooper asks, startled. “What do you mean? He’s seventeen.”

                “He moved out a few months ago,” his father says calmly.

                “Dad, what are you talking about?! He’s _seventeen_.”

                His father sighs and runs a hand over his face.

                “He lives with his boyfriend’s family.”

                “His _boyfriend?!_ ” Cooper shrieks, his eyes going wide. “He has a boyfriend?!”

                “Cooper,” his dad says tiredly. “What are you trying to get at?”

                Cooper wants to roll his eyes, because this is the father he’s used to. The father that doesn’t have time to talk, that just wants to get to the point as quickly as possible so he can get on with his day.

                Cooper shakes his head quickly, like if he just shakes his head fast enough all of the thoughts in there will blend together and suddenly make sense.

                “Blaine has a boyfriend?” Cooper asks.

                They’re still standing in the entryway of the house.

                “Yes, Cooper, Blaine has a boyfriend. They’ve been together for a year or two, I don’t know. His boyfriend lives in New York and Blaine lives with his boyfriend’s father.”

                “What do you _mean_?” Cooper asks, a sense of desperation in his voice.

                His father takes a breath, but it’s not a calming one. Cooper can see his irritation growing until it can’t be contained anymore.

                “You’ve asked me that several times now, Cooper. I honestly don’t know what you want from me. My answer isn’t going to change.”

                Cooper shakes his head again, but this time it’s in disbelief.

                “Nevermind,” he says. “Sorry.” Though he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

                He heads upstairs, but instead of going to the guest bedroom, he goes to Blaine’s. It’s not empty, but it’s…sterile. There are a few clothes in the closet, but it’s strikingly empty. There are some papers in his desk, but nothing that looks important. No school textbooks or notebooks, no journals, no mail. The dresser is also mostly empty.

                He goes to the bathroom. Cooper and his parents each have their own private bathrooms connected to their rooms, making it so they rarely ever had to leave except for food and fresh air. Blaine’s room doesn’t, so he uses the shared one upstairs that guests always use.

                It’s empty. There is no toothbrush, no open shampoo or conditioner. No hair gel, razors, or deodorant.

                He heads back to the room he’s staying in and takes his phone out, scrolling to the B’s in his contact list. He remembers too late that he doesn’t have Blaine’s number.

                He sits on his bed and lets out a disgruntled “Fuck.”

                He puts his coat back on and heads outside for a walk around his neighborhood, and calls Sarah instead.

                “Hey!” she says happily. “Merry Christmas!”

                Cooper can picture it: she’s at her parents. All of her siblings are there, probably an aunt and uncle, too, with some cousins. They’re probably eating brunch and playing in the basement, keeping the younger cousins entertained. There’s probably a movie on upstairs for the teenagers who would rather eat and sneak mimosas than play with three year olds.

                They’re all happy, he knows it. Every one of them.

                “My brother’s gay,” Cooper says. “He’s gay.”

                “Oh,” Sarah says, her voice sobering. “Are you—is that not…okay?”

                “Of course it’s okay,” Cooper says harshly. “I just didn’t know.”

                “Coop, I’m confused… What’s the problem?”

                “He has a boyfriend, Sarah. Who he’s been with for like two years or something. And I didn’t even know.”

                “Cooper,” Sarah drawls. “You—we’ve been together for three years. Did you ever tell your family about me?”

                “Yes! I mean—I must have.”

                “In passing, sure. Have you ever told Blaine?”

                “I—” Cooper pauses. Because he hasn’t. When he was home three years ago he and Sarah had just started dating and it wasn’t serious, so he didn’t tell anybody. He didn’t want to jinx it. He’s told his parents because they talk every few months. But he and Blaine…he doesn’t even have Blaine’s phone number.

                “Cooper,” Sarah says again. “Where are you?”

                “Outside. On a walk. I just—I needed to get out of there.”

                “Out of where?”

                “The house.”

                “Was the funeral yet?” Sarah asks.

                “Yeah,” Cooper replies. “We just got home from it. Did you know that Blaine doesn’t even live at home?” he says, still impassioned. Still confused.

                “Hmm?” Sarah questions.

                “He’s fucking _seventeen_ , Sar, and he doesn’t even _live at home_.”

                “Where does he live?” she asks.

                “I don’t even know!” Cooper yells. He stops for a minute and throws his free hand in the air dramatically. Then he starts walking again. “At his boyfriend’s house. He fucking lives with his boyfriend. What parent lets a seventeen year old move in with their boyfriend?!”

                “I don’t know,” Sarah says, placating Cooper.

                “This whole thing is a mess,” Cooper says, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. He can feel the cold air trying to freeze them before they fall, but it doesn’t work.

                “What is?” Sarah prods.

                “I don’t even have his number. I have a brother and I didn’t even know he had a cell phone. Of _course_ he has a cell phone. I just never fucking thought to get his number, to reach out to him. I was too busy pushing myself into your family and your life to remember that I had one of my own!”

                He’s yelling. He wishes he weren’t. He feels so much like his father when he yells.

                “Babe,” Sarah says softly. “It’s not too late. You know that.”

                “I don’t understand how all of this happened,” Cooper replies, the tears falling faster than he can wipe them away. “I don’t understand how my family got so _fractured_. That I have a brother who didn’t ever tell me he was gay. That he could move out of his house and no one told me.”

                “You never call,” Sarah says, because Sarah doesn’t hold punches. Because she knows how to be blunt without being an asshole, and Cooper has always admired and envied that about her. They share that trait—their bluntness. But Cooper wishes so badly that he could be as kindhearted as her, that he could come from such a point of grace and understanding.

                He shakes his head, again hoping that if he does it enough time that everything in there will melt together into a specific feeling so that he doesn’t have to continue feeling so many unnamed emotions.

                “He never does either,” Cooper says, though he knows it’s futile. He knows, because he knows what Sarah is going to say next.

                “He doesn’t have to,” she says. “He’s the teenager. You’re the adult.”

                He lets out a wet sigh as he rounds the corner to his house. He walks past it, not ready to go back inside and feel so walled in and alone.

                Instead he has Sarah tell him about how her day is, and he listens as she talks about baby Ezra and how he’s taking his first steps, and the funny jokes her cousin Adam has been sharing, and how Eliana won’t stop singing the annoying 50 States That Rhyme song that she learned the other week, and how her uncle Harry taught her young cousin Mikey to play 52 Card Pickup and how he won’t stop playing it with the younger kids.

                Cooper laughs and smiles and feels a pang of sadness at not being there to be a part of the fun.

                When they say their goodbyes and he walks back into his house, frozen solid and feeling like he just went through every emotion known to man, he remembers why he likes Sarah’s parents’ house more than he ever liked his own; the doors are always open there. They never are here.

* * *

 

                Blaine shows up a little after breakfast. Cooper wasn’t expecting him so early.

                “Hey,” he says when Blaine sits down at the dining room table. Cooper is eating some toast and yogurt, still in his pajamas.

                Blaine is dressed in a warm winter sweater and a pair of well fitted khakis. He doesn’t look like a teenager.

                “Hi,” Blaine responds. “Hi, dad.”

                “Hi, Blaine,” their father replies from the other side of the table, not putting down his newspaper. “How was the rest of your Christmas?”

                “It was good. And yours?”

                “Quiet,” their father says.

                “How’s mom doing?” Blaine asks.

                “She’s…coping. Overall I think she’s doing well. It’s hard for her.”

                Blaine nods. “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

                Their father nods.

                Cooper watches the conversation like it’s a tennis match, his head moving back and forth to whoever is talking.

                He never thought that a conversation about a family death could be so clinical.

                “I have some errands I have to run today,” Cooper says. “Blaine, wanna come for the ride?”

                “Sure,” Blaine replies. “Unless dad needs me here for mom?” He looks up to their father, his eyebrows quirked in question.

                “No, no. You can go. I think we’ll be doing a family dinner tonight, though, if you can make it.”

                Cooper always hated that. How his father would put the onus on them to decide to attend some family function. _If you can make it_ , never _I’d like it if you could come_.

                “Absolutely,” Blaine replies cordially.

                After that Cooper heads upstairs to shower and change. When he comes down he has his father’s car keys in his hand and he ushers Blaine out of the door.

                “Let’s go.”

                Cooper doesn’t have any errands to run. He has no idea where to go. It’s the day after Christmas and he’s pretty sure most places will still be closed in their town. He quickly figures out that he was wrong, and he pulls into a mostly empty coffee shop.

                “Want to grab a drink?” he asks Blaine.

                “Sure,” Blaine says.

                They head in and each order a black coffee. Cooper tries to pay for Blaine, but Blaine doesn’t let him.

                They head over to a quiet corner that’s partially blocked to the rest of the store by a large pole.

                They sit in silence for a few seconds, awkwardly drinking their coffee. Eventually Cooper realizes that he needs to be the one to break the ice.

                “I don’t know what to say,” he starts with, because why not be honest.

                “About what?” Blaine asks curiously.

                “This,” Cooper says gesturing between them. “Us.”

                “I’m not following.”

                Cooper sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

                “I have a seventeen year old brother, and I don’t think I even realized that, y’know?”

                Blaine shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

                “I just—I don’t even know where to begin.”

                “I thought you had errands to run?” Blaine asks. “What are we doing?”

                “No. I just wanted to get you alone. So we could talk.”

                “Okay, then let’s talk,” Blaine says, seeming a little perturbed. He folds his hands and places them on the table in front of him, staring at Cooper with fire and ice in his eyes. It’s intimidating.

                Cooper sighs again. He doesn’t know how to start tearing down that wall that’s been so expertly built between him and his family. For the longest time he wanted that wall there. He just didn’t realize how long that wall got, how much it hardened over the years. He didn’t realize that it extended all the way to his brother.

                “I don’t know how to,” Cooper admits quietly.

                Blaine sighs in frustration and annoyance, like this whole thing is a waste of his time, and it’s so much like something their father would do that Cooper winces.

                “Then I’ll start. Hi Cooper, it’s been three years. I’m now seventeen. That’s what happens when time goes by.”

                “Why are you so angry?” Cooper asks. Not rudely, just with confusion.

                Blaine lets out a bitter scoff. “Because I have a brother that literally disappeared when I was nine years old, who I have seen three times in eight years, and who is now suddenly curious as to how—what? How I’m suddenly seventeen? How I grew up without you?”

                “I didn’t realize so much would change.”

                “ _That’s what happens when time goes by_ ,” Blaine repeats, like Cooper’s an idiot.

                “I know that!” Cooper says bluntly and with some heat behind his words. “But do you know what it’s like to come back and find out that my little brother is _gay_ , that he has a _boyfriend_ , who he _lives_ with?!”

                “Probably similar to how I’d feel with you coming back and telling me what’s going on with your life,” Blaine remarks, rolling his eyes before taking another sip of his coffee.

                “I don’t—just...why didn’t you tell me? Or call me or something?”

                “With what? The number that you never left me? The address you never gave me? The email address of yours I don’t have? I know you think that just because I idolized you as a child that I still would now. But that’s not how it works, Cooper. You can’t just abandon me and then expect me to stay the same.”

                “But I was here when you were fourteen,” Cooper says, trying to defend himself. As if visiting three years ago makes up for everything.

                “So? A lot changes from fourteen to seventeen.”

                Cooper sighs. “I know. I _know_ that, I do. I just…I don’t know how we got this way.”

                “Got what way?” Blaine asks.

                “So…distant. I don’t know how we grew apart.”

                Blaine shrugs. “It’s really not that hard. You moved to California and never left any contact information. You came back twice, and one of those times I was in a hospital drugged up and hardly able to breathe. What, was I supposed to pull off my oxygen mask and tell you in my pneumatic state that I’m gay when I wasn’t even out to mom and dad and had no idea how you would react?”

                “I guess not,” Cooper replies. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish you did.”

                “You can’t have it both ways, Cooper. You can’t leave Ohio and cut any ties you have to this place but expect me to hold onto that rope as tight as I can. Eventually I cut that rope, too.”

                Cooper nods. He nods and he wipes at his eyes and he takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee and he thinks about Sarah and what she would say to him right now, in all her blunt and affectionate wisdom.

                “I don’t care that you’re gay, Blaine. Like, at all. I don’t care at all.”

                “Okay,” Blaine says, still perturbed. “Believe it or not, I don’t need or want your blessing regarding my sexual orientation.”

                “I didn’t mean it that way,” Cooper says quickly. “I just meant that—in case you thought I would be like, against it. I’m not. I don’t care.”

                “Good,” Blaine says with finality.

                “Dad says you moved out?” Cooper says, trying to change the subject and avoid any awkward silences.

                “You don’t get to play twenty questions, get the information you want, and then leave, Cooper. Again, that’s now how this works.”

                “I just want to talk with you, get to know you.”

                “Why now? Why not last year or the year before?”

                “Because I realized now how much you’ve grown up, how much I’ve missed. And,” he takes a deep and steadying breath, “it upsets me that I know more about my girlfriend’s siblings than I know about my own.”

                “You did this to yourself,” Blaine says.

                “That was harsh,” Cooper responds.

                “It was the truth,” Blaine says.

                “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to hear it,” Cooper whispers, more to himself than to Blaine.

                From across the table Cooper can feel Blaine cross his legs, his foot accidentally hitting Cooper’s knee before settling into position. He’s playing with his empty coffee cup, and Cooper is about to ask if Blaine wants more coffee when he speaks.

                “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine, too.”

                “Deal,” Cooper says as quickly as he can.

                “You have a girlfriend?”

                Cooper nods. “Sarah. We’ve been together for over three years. She’s…different. Than me. Than us, I think. She has a big family who she’s really close with. We’ve talked about marriage.”

                “So it’s serious?” Blaine asks.

                “Very,” Cooper replies. “I’ve been looking at rings.”

                “Do mom and dad know?”

                “I…honestly don’t know. I think they know we’re dating? I’ve told them before that I’m dating someone. I don’t know if they’ve put together that it’s been the same person over the years. Her family knows, though. If that matters.”

                Blaine nods slowly and plays with his lips for a moment: pursing them together and then moving them to the side of his face.

                “Your turn,” he responds after a second.

                “You have a boyfriend,” Cooper says, though it’s not a question.

                Blaine nods. “His name’s Kurt, and we’ve been together for two years.”

                He doesn’t offer up any more information than that, but Cooper’s not going to take his silence that easily.

                “Is it serious?” he asks.

                “We’ve also talked about marriage,” Blaine admits. “Though only in, like—not in concrete terms. Just…” he shrugs. “Ethereally. For the far future.”

                “Dad said you lived with him,” Cooper says, bringing it up again and hoping for an answer this time.

                “I don’t. I live with his family. Kurt’s at school in New York.”

                “Why did you move out?”

                “Really?” Blaine asks, leaning forward. “You’re asking me _that?_ ”

                “Wha—yeah. Why not?”

                “You of all people can’t imagine why I’d want to get out of mom and dad’s house.”

                “Oh,” Cooper says, and it burns a bit knowing that things really haven’t changed much in their house or their family. “Yeah. I guess so.”

                “My turn,” Blaine says quickly. “How come you call mom and dad but never me?”

                Cooper wants to defend himself, but he knows there really isn’t any excuse. He knows that Sarah would say that, at least, no matter how many times Cooper would try to justify it.

                “Mom and dad always told me you were doing well. I just…I thought that was enough.”

                “It wasn’t,” Blaine says, his features hardened.

                “I know,” Cooper sys guiltily.

                “And I wasn’t okay.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “I was bullied. I was gay bashed. I had to switch schools. Mom and dad sucked and couldn’t deal with all the shit going on in my life. They kept making vague references about me maybe meeting a woman one day.”

                “Blaine—” Cooper says, and he goes to reach out to Blaine but stops halfway across the table and slowly lets his hand fall. Blaine is glaring daggers at him, like if Cooper dares to move his hand any closer to Blaine he’ll chop it off himself. “I didn’t know.”

                “That’s not an excuse.”

                “I—you’re right. It’s not.”

                “Kurt’s family is nice to me. They love me. They come to my glee performances, they see me when I’m performing in musicals and plays. When I wanted to join the cheerleading team they _supported_ me. Dad said it seemed _too gay_ and I shouldn’t do it unless I wanted to get beat up _again_. Kurt’s family _wants_ me. They don’t just _le_ t me stay at their house, they invited me to.”

                Cooper doesn’t really know what to say, so they sit in silence for a minute.

                “Are you happy?” Cooper asks.

                “That’s a loaded question,” Blaine remarks.

                “In life, though. Are you happy?”

                “Yeah,” Blaine shrugs. “I mean, for the most part.”

                “What do you mean?” Cooper asks.

                Blaine takes a deep breath and looks out of the window for a moment.

                “I have friends. Good friends. _Great_ friends. I have a boyfriend. He loves me and I love him. I’m moving to New York next year for school, and even though I’m staying in the dorms, we’ve talked about moving into our own apartment the year after that—when I’m a sophomore. His family took me in and they give me all the love I could ever need. So yeah, I’m happy.”

                “But?” Cooper asks. “Is there a but?”

                “Of course there’s a but. The but just isn’t that important. Because the good stuff overshadows it.”

                “What’s the but, though?”

                “The but’s that I have a fucked up family life and I don’t know if it’s something I’ll ever get over.”

                “Yeah,” Cooper says, resting his head on his hand. “I know that feeling.”

                “My therapist says I can work through it,” Blaine says. “So I guess that’s something to look forward to.”

                There’s silence again for a moment, but it doesn’t feel as awkward. Like maybe the tension has cracked just a little.

                “So New York, huh?”

                “Yeah. New York,” Blaine says.

                “What do you want to go to school for?”

                “Theatre,” Blaine says.

                Cooper smiles.

                “What?” Blaine asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

                Cooper shakes his head.

                “Nothing. I’m just happy that you still like to act.”

                “Yeah,” Blaine says. “It makes me happy.”

                Cooper smiles again.

                “Me, too.”

                “It’s nice to pretend to be someone else for a bit. And the theatre is…it’s very…welcoming.”

                “It’s like a family,” Cooper replies, remember his times on stage. He prefers screen acting, and it’s what he normally pursues. But he remembers being in college and being a recent grad and taking on theatre roles. He remembers the closeness that always transpired when everyone was working together on a piece of art and trying to bring it to life on the stage.

                “I wish you didn’t have to seek that family elsewhere,” Cooper continues.

                Blaine shrugs. “You had to, too.”

                “I wish neither of us had to, then.”

                “Why waste time on things we can’t change.”

                “You’re a wise kid,” Cooper comments.

                “I’m not a kid,” Blaine says, though there’s no bite to it. He says it like it’s a fact. It _is_ a fact, Cooper realizes. This person sitting across from him isn’t a kid anymore.

                “No, you’re not,” he exhales.

                “So what happens next?” Blaine asks.

                “What do you mean?”

                “Do you go back to California and I go to New York in a few months and we never talk again?”

                “Why would we never talk again?” Cooper asks, honestly curious.

                “It’s not like we ever talked before. Not since you left. And I do holidays with Kurt’s family, and you do holidays with your girlfriend’s. It’s not like either of us will be home for Christmases.”

                “Chanukkah,” Cooper replies.

                “Huh?”

                “Sarah is Jewish. I’m thinking of converting.”

                “Really?” Blaine asks, and there’s such an utter look of confusion on his face that it actually makes Cooper laugh out loud.

                “What?” Cooper asks, smiling.

                “You’ve never been one for God.”

                “I’m not. Not really. But, y’know, _family_. It’s important to her. And her family has become my family.”

                “Interesting,” Blaine says. “Judaism.” Cooper can see Blaine trying it out on his tongue.

                “It’s not set in stone. Just something I’ve been toying with. I haven’t even talked to Sarah about it. You’re the first person I’ve told. But anyway, no. We don’t go our separate ways and never talk.”

                Cooper pulls his phone out of his pocket and slides it across the table to Blaine. It pains him that he’s twenty-six and is just getting his brother’s cell phone number for the first time in his life. He tries not to think about that too much. He tries to focus on the fact that this is the first time he’s talked to his brother in years, and that they actually _talked_. More than just pleasantries.

                Blaine types his number in, and Cooper can see him sending himself a text so he’ll have Cooper’s number, too.

                “I’m sorry that mom and dad didn’t tell me everything going on in your life,” Cooper says.

                “I am, too. But again, why dwell on the past?”

                “Because if I knew how hard things were for you, I’d like to think that I’d have been a better brother.”

                “So?” Blaine asks unforgivingly. “Again, that’s in the past. Stop trying to live in the past. After a while you just have to leave it there. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. Nobody can change it. But now you have my number, and now you know that mom and dad are full of shit and don’t know or care what’s going on in our lives anyway. So stop thinking about all the things that could have been, and start thinking of all the things that could _be_.”

                “The wise one,” Cooper repeats.

                “The practical one,” Blaine rebuts.

                “You get that from dad.”

                “Oh god,” Blaine says, his eyes growing wider. “ _Please_ don’t say that.”

                Cooper breaks out into laughter, and he’s happy when he sees Blaine finally crack, too.

                They stand up at the same time and clean their spot up, comfortably making their way back outside and to the car.

                They listen to music on the drive back, spend the afternoon talking about less important matters like what TV shows they’re watching, what roles Cooper has gotten, what clubs Blaine is a part of at school.

                Dinner with the family is a quiet affair, but everyone actually talks. It’s not fun, necessarily. It’s nothing like dinner at Sarah’s parents’ house where people laugh and smile and joke. But it’s an improvement on what dinners were usually like when Cooper was in high school. He knows that it won’t last, because Cooper lives in California and Blaine lives with Kurt’s family and it will be a long time until everyone is together again at a dinner table. But for tonight it’s good.

                For tonight this is all Cooper needs.

                And when Blaine leaves that night to go back to the house he calls home, he and Cooper bro-hug again, and Cooper asks what Blaine’s doing the rest of the week.

                “Not much,” Blaine replies. “Kurt’s back for his winter break, so we’re just hanging out mostly.”

                “I’d love to meet him,” Cooper says without thinking. “I mean, if that’s an option.”

                Blaine looks at him for a moment quietly, and Cooper can tell he’s considering it.

                “Kurt likes coffee,” he says.

                “Sarah likes coffee, too,” Cooper replies.

                “Maybe you can FaceTime her in and we can all meet.”

                “I’d like that,” Cooper replies.

                Blaine nods and turns around, heading back to the car he drove here in.

                There’s a lot of questions that Cooper still has. There’s a lot that he knows that he and Blaine need to talk about. But for now, this is good.

                Because for the first time in over a decade, Ohio doesn’t suck all that much.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! Comments are an incredibly powerful way to let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> Feel free to reblog this story [here](http://mailroomorder.tumblr.com/post/159956329845/when-cooper-anderson-comes-to-town).


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